


If It's Real (It Stains Your Hands Like Wine)

by wright_or_wrong



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 17:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3858727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wright_or_wrong/pseuds/wright_or_wrong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“But I think to really sell it,” Abed muses. “We need a kiss. I mean, you guys are about to die. What would keep you from going for it?” Alternate/Missing scene for 6x08.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It's Real (It Stains Your Hands Like Wine)

“I love you...”

Her voice rises at the end, so it sounds more like a question than any kind of emphatic declaration, but when he looks down at her, he just goes with it, parroting the words right back to her without really thinking about it.

He is wearing a ridiculous wig and cotton balls over his eyebrows and none of this is real, so when she slides into his arms, he tries to keep a level head, to not think about her body pressed, however tentatively, to his in front of an audience of ten or so people. But then Britta’s bitching about how he and Annie are supposed to be related and he realizes that most of the details of the movie’s plot (and it’s probably generous to even call it that) have escaped him at the moment.

 Still, he does sort of remember that Britta’s the one playing his daughter and points that out to her – only to have her remind him that he said she and Annie were sisters earlier, and the whole thing becomes an even bigger mess.

It’s all Annie’s fault, he thinks. She’s thrown him off his game in a major way.

So when Abed finally yells “Cut!” in a feeble attempt to settle things down and Annie drifts away from him, he bites at the inside of his cheek and studies the dirty tile under his feet in an effort to keep his emotions in check.

“I actually like where this is going,” Abed declares, which is a something of a miracle because he’s seemed nothing but disheartened, disappointed, and disillusioned by every bit of improvisation that’s taken place so far. “It’s good to include the romance angle. Even in Sci Fi. I mean, Star Wars has Han and Leia… Neo and Trinity in The Matrix… Jake and Neytiri in Avatar… it makes sense.”

Jeff nods in agreement – because Abed’s making perfect sense for once – but Britta throws her hands up in vehement protest.

“He’s her father, Abed! I know we’re supposed to be in outer space but that’s gross anywhere.”

Abed cocks his head, trying to puzzle it out.

“Yeah, it’d probably be hard to sell the incest angle.” He shrugs. “Okay, so we throw a line in somewhere about Annie really being Chang’s daughter. Jeff’s character kidnapped her as a kid or something.”

Britta gapes at him like he’s lost his mind.

“And that makes them hooking up any better?”

“People will be less put off if they’re not blood related,” Abed insists.

“That makes sense,” the Dean chimes in.

“I’m less put off already,” Frankie agrees.

Jeff chances a look over at Annie, who shrugs casually, like she’s game for anything. So he tries to play it cool too – he crosses his arms over his chest and pulls out his most bored, disinterested expression, the one that says, ‘I’d rather be anywhere else on earth.’ He wears that one pretty well after years and years of practice at it.

“But I think to really sell it,” Abed muses. “We need a kiss. I mean, you guys are about to die. What would keep you from going for it?”

There’s no mirror around to check in, but Jeff’s willing to bet that he looks a little less than bored now. He glances over to check in with Annie again, and she stares back with an unreadable expression that sets his nerves jangling. Around them, though, there are murmurs of agreement, like Abed’s a genius for coming up with what’s really a fairly predictable plot twist, but they're probably all just trying to keep things moving along, keep the whole mess on track so they can finish the damn movie by the deadline – and pad the running time a little too, because at the rate they’re going it doesn't look like this stupid thing is going to be even an hour long.

“So we’ll go film the other scene with Garrett,” Abed says. “And then we’ll come back here and do the kiss. Okay?”

He doesn't wait for Jeff or Annie to agree, just starts directing the crew toward the other room where the green screen is. Jeff stares down at the floor again as the group shuffles out, unable to meet Annie’s eyes all of a sudden. The twinge of guilt he feels doesn't make a damn bit of sense – because it’s not like he planned this or even hoped it would happen. Hell, she’s the one who came up with the whole love bit in the first place and he just followed her lead. None of this would have happened if she hadn't said those three little words.  And it’s not like he’s taking advantage of anyone because he’s only doing this for the movie, which really means that he’s actually doing it for the school.

So when he thinks about it, it’s almost kind of noble.

He’s kissing Annie for Greendale.

The last crew member finally disappears into the hallway, and he and Annie are alone in the near dark amidst mountains of Frisbees – and what’s really sad is that this probably isn’t even the strangest situation they’ve found themselves in over the past six years. Still, he knows that he needs to say something because the lingering silence is creating the kind of thick, heavy tension that makes him do stupid, reckless things.

So he lifts his shoulders and exhales heavily.

“This could be weird,” he admits. “But it really shouldn’t. Because we’ve kissed before so …”

He isn’t sure which of one of them he’s trying to convince, but Annie eventually nods, so maybe someone’s buying it.

“Twice, actually,” she points out.

He smiles hesitantly, like he needs to be reminded of that fact, like he’s somehow managed to forget that part of their history.

“Right. Twice. So it’s not a big deal. At all.”

She nods again, but her soft, little sigh as she finishes doesn’t make her seem quite as certain.

“It was a really long time ago, though,” she says. “Practically another lifetime.”

She isn’t wrong – though he’s not about to tell her that he’s taken a few trips down memory lane in recent months and maybe done the necessary math to work out the details so he’s pretty sure that it’s been five years and one hundred eighty-seven days since the last time they kissed, because knowing that kind of thing would make him seem a little too stalker-ish for his tastes – and pretending that kissing her again after all this time, even under the guise of a making crappy film that will likely never see the light of day, isn’t the biggest deal he can imagine is the worst kind of lie.

But then again, he’s a really good liar.

“Maybe we should do a trial run,” Annie suggests suddenly, and for a moment, he honestly has no idea what she means. “You know, just kiss right now when it’s only the two of us so when they’re ready to film, we’ll have gotten all of the awkwardness out of the way.”

She snaps her fingers to emphasize her point -- and in all the time he’s known her, he’s never been more certain that she’s an actual genius.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, that makes sense. I’m sure real actors work on scenes like that all the time.”

He shrugs, trying to pretend like all of this is perfectly normal, perfectly legit, and Annie smiles a little shyly as she tucks her hair behind her ear. Neither of them move, though, because it’s impossible to know how to start. The other two times they kissed, it happened in the heat of the moment, without any premeditation or planning, which meant that they didn’t really have time to think about it. Now, there’s nothing but time and they’re both thinking pretty fucking hard, worrying about it really, which makes it nearly impossible to seize the moment.

And it’s ridiculous because he’s kissed plenty of women in his life and he’s got the technique pretty much down pat, so there’s nothing to think about really, just grab her, plant one on her and get the fuck on with it, but he can’t seem to move – because it’s Annie and it’s kind of always been her and he’s terrified of ruining everything.

But then she lets out a sound that’s kind of a strangled laugh and swats at his arm and he’s right there with her in the fucking moment.

“It’s not a big deal,” she declares. “You said so yourself.”

And he nods, because he did say it even if he didn’t mean it, and they take a step toward each other like it’s something they do every day. Just as he’s about to reach for her, though, he realizes that he’s still holding the ridiculous props for the movie so he doesn’t have free use of his hands.

 “Oh,” he says stupidly. “Hang on a sec.”

He looks around for some place to set them down, but the room is utter chaos, with every possible surface covered with fucking Frisbees or other assorted junk. So he decides to just drop them on the nearest pile of crap on the floor, but he takes his time because he’s more nervous than he remembers being in a long time and he needs to take a deep breath while his back is still to Annie. His hands are kind of shaking too, and he really wishes that there was time to hunt down a bottle of scotch for a little liquid courage.

Somehow, though, he works up the guts to turn around, and Annie is looking up at him with those ridiculously blue eyes of hers and suddenly it all feels pretty simple.

So he reaches out to cup her cheek and guide her toward him. Her hand wraps around his wrist to keep him close and then he presses his mouth to hers and everything seems to get very quiet and very still.

He takes it slow and easy, even as he licks his way into her mouth, because part of him expects her wise up and change her mind. Her fingers tighten around his wrist, though, and her teeth bite at his lower lip, so it doesn’t seem like she’s regretting anything at all.

When they eventually drift apart, they’re both breathing hard and Annie’s eyes are still closed, like she isn’t quite ready to return to reality just yet. He rubs his thumb against her cheekbone and just like that, her eyes flutter open, but the spell doesn’t seem to have broken for either of them yet.

“That was… good,” she says haltingly – and she licks at her lips in a way that makes him want to trace the same exact path. “But you know, our characters think they’re about to die… it should probably be more intense… passionate.”

He nods stupidly.

“Right. Yeah. Kind of primal.”

“Yes. Exactly. Primal.” She exhales heavily. “So maybe we should try it again… but this time, you should grab me around the waist, kind of pull me against you…”

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and there is part of him that’s wondering if he’s dreaming or has maybe suffered some kind of head injury – this can’t possibly be happening in real life. “That sounds right.”

So he wraps his arms around her waist and tugs her until she’s flush against him, until every inch of her warm, little body is pressed tightly against his. He doesn’t ease into kissing her this time – he dives into her mouth like it might be another six years before he gets the chance again. She clutches at his biceps, and his ridiculous shirt is so thin that he can feel her nails digging into his skin, which only makes him even more frantic, so he kisses her until he’s breathless and dizzy and sweating a little under his wig. She whimpers or sighs and he tangles a hand in her hair as she shifts against him.

“Oh, yeah,” she practically moans against his mouth. “I think that’s better.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, sounding just as winded as he does after he goes six miles on the treadmill. “S’good.”

Annie nods absently, and he feels her curve her leg around the back of his and drag her foot against the his calf with purpose.

“But maybe you should lift me up,” she suggests. “And I could put my legs—"

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, boosting her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist. “That’s…”

Their height difference is erased, so she swoops in to kiss him this time, which throws him a little off balance and he winds up falling back against the cheap utility shelves behind them. Something clatters to the floor with a muffled thud, but neither of them stops to assess the damage – she tugs at the collar of his cheap shirt, he skates his hands over her ass, and their mouths move against one another without any hesitation.

“Wait, wait,” she whispers, when he brushes his lips along her jaw. “Can I just…”

She grabs at his wig and tugs it off, flinging it somewhere behind him – and then she seals her mouth over his again and her hands are in his hair, tugging it this way and that, so she can change the angle of the kiss as she sees fit until she jerks his head back, baring his throat to her, and he feels her lips and teeth and tongue, hot as a brand, on his neck then and he’s pretty sure that he’s going to have tattoos in the shape of her mouth on his skin when all is said and done.

“Maybe we should try something else,” he groans – because he’s feeling kind of dizzy and his heart’s pounding so hard that he’s not entirely sure how much longer he can stay on his feet. “Let me…”

He grabs the shelving behind him with one hand and somehow manages to lower himself to his knees, all while keeping Annie pressed against him as tightly as possible. She straddles his lap without missing a beat, so she’s got to have a pretty good idea just how into this he is because his pants don’t leave much to the imagination – but she still doesn’t back off, doesn’t even slow down as she slides against him with the kind of determination that is her trademark. It’s that certainty of hers that makes him surge forward and lay her back against a pile of Frisbees so he can cover her body with his. She moans into his mouth and hooks a leg over the back of this thigh, encouraging him to press against her even harder.

 And that’s even before she slips a hand beneath the back of his waistband and trails her fingers along his lower back, working some kind of magic that short circuits all of his major brain functions. Her clothes are way too tight to make getting her out of them seem like a realistic possibility, so he nuzzles his way down her neck and into her cleavage to console himself.

“Oh, God,” she half sighs, half moans. “Um, maybe we… this might be too much for the movie…”

He breathes out against her skin, which smells faintly like vanilla and makes it difficult to actually lift his head to look at her. But he does it somehow, trying for one of his most charmingly flippant smirks. 

“Yeah.  Probably. Unless the distributor wants to sell it to Cinemax to show late, late at night.”

Annie smiles, looking just as dazed as he feels – which is reassuring, because maybe he’s not making a total fool of himself right now. Still, he pushes himself up on his arms so he’s not resting on her so heavily and tries to catch her breath. He can see her a little better now, and she’s flushed all the way down to the tops of her breasts and having a hard time meeting his eyes, which might have something to do with the fact that she can feel his hard-on against her thigh. He tries to slide off of her, but it’s impossible to get any traction with all the Frisbees under them so he only winds up rutting against her like some pathetic kid on prom night.

Now he can’t look her in the eye.

But she reaches up to touch his shoulder then, where his shirt has slipped away and she can trace her fingers over his skin with an almost painful gentleness, and he looks down at her almost despite himself.

“At least it won’t be awkward,” she says lightly, shrugging as best she can against the mess of Frisbees under her. “When we have to kiss for the movie.”

When he smiles now, it’s genuine – because all of this is so absurd and kind of amazing and it’s impossible to pretend otherwise. Annie grins back and curls a hand around his cheek to pull him close again. For a moment, they just look at one another, in a way that they haven’t done in a long time, and he thinks that maybe her improvised declaration of love jumpstarted something in him and the look in her eyes now only makes him feel it more clearly.

But he kisses her softly, maybe even more gently than he realized possible. She hums into it, smiling against his lips.

 “We must be really good actors,” she whispers.

 “Actually,” he says, shifting his weight again. “I’m pretty sure I suck.”

She looks up at him sharply, her eyes wide, and opens her mouth like she’s about to ask what that means, what all of this means, and he panics because as usual, he isn’t sure what to tell her.

“Jeff,” she nearly laughs, like he’s just told a questionable joke. “You don’t—“

Suddenly, there’s a blood-curdling scream in the hallway behind them that sounds suspiciously like Garrett, followed by muffled yelling and what sounds like a stack of pots and pans falling over, and then they’re scrambling to get up, Frisbees flying everywhere in an avalanche of plastic. He holds a hand out to help her up and she somehow manages to snag his wig from the mess and toss it back to him. He tries to get it back on his head while she smooths her own hair and wipes off the back of her shorts just before Abed, Britta, Frankie, and the Dean wander in, looking more than a little frustrated.

He just hopes they’re irritated enough that they won’t notice that Annie’s lipstick is completely rubbed off, her neck and chest are a little red where his stubble scratched against her skin, and his shirt is gaping open a lot more than before even though he’s trying to hold it closed.

“We’re short on time again,” Abed announces. “So we’re gonna have to forget the kiss.” He looks at Jeff and Annie and shakes his head forlornly. “It’s a shame. It would’ve been good.”

It barely takes a second for him to shrug and turn, though, ready to move on. Jeff glances over at Annie, who nods absently without making eye contact with anyone in the room. Britta and Frankie follow Abed into the hallway, whispering to one another, but the Dean lingers for a moment, looking back and forth between Jeff and Annie with narrowed eyes.

“Everything okay here?” he asks, almost like he hopes the answer is no and there’s some drama to distract him from the boring business of shooting this crappy movie.

Annie lifts her shoulders in what Jeff assumes is supposed to be a casual gesture, but she does it so fast and stiff that it kind of makes her look like she’s hopped up on speed.

“Everything’s great,” she declares, all full of false cheer. “I’m just going to go see if they need my help for the next scene.”

She heads straight for the door resolutely, and Jeff bites at his lip to keep from calling after her like some lovesick loser. Once she makes it past the Dean, though, she looks back at him for a moment. Her eyes are as wide and luminous as ever, and he can see a thousand things in them – fear, excitement, disappointment, nervousness, maybe even hope – but she hurries into the hallway before he can really analyze any of it.

The Dean strolls over to him, still looking vaguely critical.

“It’s a good thing you’re shirtless in your next scene,” he says.

Jeff frowns – because he’s seriously not in the mood for this crap right now.

“Excuse me?”

The Dean points in the vicinity of Jeff’s shoulder.

“You’ve got lipstick all over it.”

Jeff tugs at the flimsy fabric to get a look, and sure enough, there are pinky-purple smudges along the edge and even some on his stupid sash.

“You know,” the Dean drawls, head tilted coyly. “If you took it off right now, we could go to my office… I’ve got club soda that would get those right out... though, you really should be more careful your wardrobe, Jeffrey. We paid $9 for that shirt at Good Will.”

“They’re just… you know, from filming… we were getting crushed and there was…”

The Dean raises a brow, unimpressed.

“ _That’s_ your story?”

Jeff clenches his jaw hard enough that it almost hurts – when you can’t fool the Dean, you’ve seriously hit rock bottom.

“Forget it,” he mutters, heading for the hallway – and he knows that the verdict is definitely in.

He really is a crappy actor.

 


End file.
